


Good Things to Those Who Wait

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Knot Likely [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Bodily Fluids, Bottom Tony, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Tony, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Marking, Scenting, Schmoop, Self-Lubrication, Tony POV, Top Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Tony assumed that after he and Steve got together, his heats would be more fun. He’s right, but he’s also wrong.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Knot Likely [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546408
Comments: 118
Kudos: 1317
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, Tony-involved Omegaverse Fics





	Good Things to Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for krinosays, who won a fic from me from the Marvel Trumps Hate auction 2019.

Something’s up with Steve.

It’s been a long day for everyone, where most of said day has been spent on a favor due to SHIELD. What should have been a straightforward in-and-out got complicated, as these things sometimes do, so everyone’s tired and cranky by the time they get back to the compound.

As for Tony, he may be tired but is not overly so, and definitely not enough to _not_ notice that Steve’s been acting weird since they left the debrief with Fury. While the others moaned and groaned during the Quinjet ride back, Steve remained quiet, as though deep in thought, all the way to their touchdown and spilling back into the compound.

Tony could divert some energy into figuring what’s up, but although the rest of the Avengers can spend what’s left of the day in recuperation, a former CEO’s life knows no rest. Whatever it is that has Steve preoccupied is a low-level concern – there’s none of that subtle tang of distress Tony’s getting better at scenting out – so it can definitely wait for later. So while the rest of the team crash into the living area and kitchen, Tony excuses himself.

Steve lifts his head at Tony’s announcement. “That dinner’s still on?”

“You are totally welcome to join,” Tony says, “but believe me when I tell you, you’ll be bored as hell and wish you were here the whole time. I’m not exaggerating.” He gives Steve a quick peck on the lips before heading off.

Goodbyes said, Tony’s brain switches over from Avengers mode to business mode. He thinks about what to wear, where they’re eating tonight, if Pepper gave him an agenda for the night and if it’s worth checking up on when there’s just as much likelihood that he’ll remember the list just _slightly_ off and thus frustrate her even more.

It’s a different type of focus from when he’s with the Avengers, but still, focus. Tony has a shower, picks an outfit – dark blue with a silver tie seems a good bet – and gears up while FRIDAY rattles off the night’s guest list, along with Pepper’s latest memo.

“Did Pep say what she’s wearing?” Tony asks as he puts on his cufflinks. “A fashion-don’t could put a damper on things.”

“ _She did not, boss_ ,” FRIDAY says.

“Oooh, walking the wild side, are we? All right.”

Tony’s in the walk-in closet, but he can still hear when the bedroom’s main door opens, followed by the pad of Steve’s footsteps. Tony gives up wrestling the right cufflink, figuring that getting the assistance of a super soldier boyfriend (is that the right term? It still feels weird in Tony’s head) would be a far better use of his energy.

“Hey!” Tony calls out. He sees, via the full-length mirror in front of him, Steve enter the closet and cocks his head hopefully. “Got a hand to spare?”

“Sure thing.” Steve’s still in most of the Cap suit, and detours past his cabinet to drop the gloves and gauntlets before approaching Tony. It’s still somewhat surreal to have Steve here, in Tony’s space that is now their space, but if Tony can get used to being a literal superhero, he can definitely get used to having Steve around this way.

“Ah, my extra pair of hands.” Tony holds his right arm out expectantly.

Steve looks at the cufflinks, then back at Tony. “That’s what you’re asking for?”

“What, you don’t like the silver gears?” Tony turns back to the rows of cufflinks in their case. “I haven’t worn these in a while, and they flatter the shirt. Yes? No?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Steve sounds amused, as if Tony’s missed a punchline somewhere. That’d be unusual, but it does happen sometimes.

Tony looks down at himself, but his clothes are in order – nothing’s clashing or wrinkled or out of place. Sure, he has the robot socks on, but those are perfect and cannot be improved. Tony opens his mouth, ready to ask what the hell constructive criticism Steve feels in the mood to give today, when Steve’s hand settles at his waist.

“What?” Tony lifts his eyes to Steve’s face, but Steve’s merely gazing back at him, eyebrows raised. Tony laughs. “You looking for some post-fight hanky-panky, is that it? I am flattered, but there’s—”

“Tony.” Steve shakes his head and, to Tony’s surprise, steps forward, effectively boxing Tony against the cabinet. The hand at Tony’s waist slides boldly around Tony’s back, fingers splayed to their broadest.

Tony’s surprised and impressed. Steve likes sex as much as Tony does, but between the two of them, it’s usually Tony who makes the overt move. Steve’s more a dinner-and-hand-holding-as-foreplay kind of guy, which is its own kind of sexy, though it makes this directness an unusual twist. It’s a shame that Tony has to turn him down, because he really does honestly have to go to this dinner tonight, but Tony will more than make it up to him later.

“Steve, there’s this thing called a rain check, and—” Tony stops, his mouth open.

Steve’s hand has moved lower in a calculated direction, over Tony’s tailbone and along the swell of his ass. Tony reacts to the touch because, well, _of course_ he does, this is Steve for crying out loud, but his awareness of that reaction brings into sharp relief that the blooming warmth down below is… more than it should be.

“Oh,” Tony chokes. “Oh my god.”

“Can you really not tell?” Steve says curiously. “I know I’m the one with the enhanced sense of smell, but surely there are signs when your heat’s on the way.”

“Some of us do not have time to analyze every single headache or backache or…” Tony’s breath catches, for Steve’s hand is still moving, the tips of his fingers sliding over and then under Tony’s butt, finding the expensive silk inseam of Tony’s pants. Arousal follows Steve’s touch, rising thick and hot seemingly out of nowhere, and making Tony’s knees buckle.

That’s why Steve crowded him against the cabinet, it seems. Tucked into a corner of the closet, Steve proceeds to make things even cozier but sliding his free hand around Tony’s torso, pulling him against Steve’s chest. The proximity also allows Steve to press his face to the side of Tony’s neck, where he takes a deep, indulgent inhale.

“You’ve been warming up all day,” Steve says. His fingers dance lightly along Tony’s crevice and the rapidly-warming space underneath, all of which lights up in arousal despite the layers of cloth between his and Tony’s skin.

“Uh,” Tony says, his legs parting instinctively for Steve’s touch. This quick turn should alarm him more than it does. Sure, sometimes his heat takes him by surprise but he’s mastered the art of controlling and quashing it until he’s ready to give it his full attention. Maybe it’s because Steve’s here to give it _his_ full attention, for the first time since they’ve officially been together, and that makes all the difference.

All Tony knows is that the familiar early flickers of heat are tingling up his spine, along his neck, and down his fingertips. It’s that fever-shiver anticipation, soft but intrigued thanks to an interested alpha up close. Tony gulps for air and tries to nuzzle at Steve’s face, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Steve does him the solid of bodily turning both of them, gently but firmly, until Tony’s pressed face-first against the wall next to the cabinet.

Tony exhales, relieved that all his body weight is set between the wall at his front and Steve at his back; it’s good to give his legs a break. Propped up like this, Steve can work him quickly.

With the side of Tony’s face pressed against the wall, he catches a glimpse of their reflection on the mirror – a lewd and picture-perfect scene, with Tony in a dress suit and Steve in his combat outfit, while Steve has one hand shoved firmly into the space between Tony’s legs.

Does this count as rubbing one out? It feels like it should, technically. Either way, Steve’s hand pushes in and out into the juncture under Tony’s crotch, the rhythm a loose imitation of the fucking Tony knows he’s going to get later. A main course to this appetizer, as it were.

Still, Tony grinds down, searching for stronger press of Steve’s hand. Steve’s fingers spread and slide against him interesting ways, the little points of pressure fondling Tony’s opening through his pants. Tony feels himself getting flush and cants his hips back, which is as much as he’s able to present himself when Steve’s pressing him against the wall like this.

“Please,” Tony says, and Steve hums an acknowledgement. Steve curls two fingertips upward, searching through two layers of cloth the slick opening that’s ready for attention. Steve finds it, and rolls his fingertips against it firmly, making Tony keen.

On a normal day this touch wouldn’t be enough, but Steve’s somehow gotten his metaphorical hands around the start of Tony’s heat and is yanking it into fullness.

The evidence is right here: Tony is wet. His hole’s not yet heat-swollen but it’s well on its way, and it’s possible that he’s already leaked all the way through his pants onto Steve’s hand. Tony can’t actually tell, because he’s too busy riding said hand like a fairground ride.

The pleasure builds, and coils, and thickens. Tony’s making noises that echo in the closet, and only belatedly realizes that he’s the only one really getting off here – he can smell Steve’s arousal, but it’s subdued, pushed out of the way. Steve’s only purpose is to make Tony come like this, fully-clothed and pressed against the wall, like some old timey pornographic centerfold of the poor omega in the throes of heat while a random alpha who happened to walk by gives him what he needs.

Tony’s going to come. He’s almost there, he just needs a little bit more, a little bit of something. He doesn’t even need to beg, he must be stinking of it at this point, and Steve will know –

Steve sets one his shoulder against Tony’s back, pushing hard enough to keep Tony where he is. Tony doesn’t realize what’s happening until Steve moves his now-freed hand, quick and shocking, to grab Tony’s nape and _squeeze_. It’s not a bite but it’s close, _so close_ , with fierce pressure digging deep into the muscles of his neck, and the air rushes out of Tony’s lungs in a cry.

Tony also comes, which is nice.

It’s an early heat orgasm, i.e. fun but not fun enough. Tony comes down from it with a handful of deep breaths, aware that indulging himself so early means that there’s no delaying the rest of his heat now.

He’s okay with that.

Tony turns, his lips pursed expectantly, and Steve kisses him, soft and slow. A few seconds is all that’s needed for Tony gets his feet back under him, while Steve stands there flushed, his eyes bright, but nothing urgent in his scent. Tony does a quick downward check – yep, there’s the bulge – but Steve seems to want to save that for later.

“I just had a shower,” Tony says.

“You don’t need to take a second one.” Steve starts. “I mean, you should, if you want to, but since we’re gonna…” He trails off when Tony grins slowly. “Not a complaint. Got it.”

“ _You_ should shower, though,” Tony says. “Get the work grime off you.”

“I’ll do that,” Steve agrees. “Should I call Pepper first?”

“I can call Pepper.”

“Would she believe you? I mean, that you’re actually in heat, as opposed to using it as an excuse to get out of an important dinner?”

Tony blinks. “Okay, you call Pepper. It’s your fault, anyway.”

Steve nods. “It sure is.”

“No,” Tony says with a sigh, “you’re supposed to say, ‘What are you talking about, Tony, how is any of this my fault?’ And I’d reply, ‘It is _totally_ your fault because not only did you accost me in my own room—”

“Our room.”

“—but prior to that you made my cycle go absolutely haywire with your general Steve-ness.”

Steve shrugs. “But I know all of that already. And I agree, it is my fault.” He smiles again. If it were anyone else, Tony would roll his eyes at the cliché of the alpha in a good mood when their omega’s approaching heat, but Steve’s good mood isn’t just for the heat; it’s for everything else. This in turn has _Tony_ in a good mood and, for the first time in a long time, looking forward to actually dealing with his heat quickly.

What strange times they live in.

Tony gives Steve another quick kiss on the cheek, following which he gets on to the task removing his clothes. Once his shirt’s off, the skin of his upper arms and stomach prickle in the open air – another heat symptom, not that he needed more confirmation. All the evidence is right there in the now-ruined pants and underwear that he gingerly tosses into the laundry basket.

It’s as if he’s fourteen again, with all the imagination and impatience that the age allowed. Tony can admit that he’s impressed, and he looks up to tell Steve so.

Except when he does look up, Steve’s partway stripped out of his combat suit, and has lifted his visibly slick-damp hand to his nose, where he’s taking a deep whiff.

“Uh,” Tony says.

Steve eyes Tony over his hand. The unashamed directness is startling, and has Tony taking a quick step back against the wall instinctively – not to get away from Steve, but to have something to lean against when his knees go weak.

“It smells different, when you’re in heat,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, cool.” Tony swallows. “Though you should, um. Wash your hands.”

“I will do that,” Steve says. “And then I’ll make the call to Pepper.”

“Okay, I’m gonna…” Tony enjoys a Steve striptease as much as the next person, but it feels a better idea to skedaddle out of the closet right now, lest he get distracted. So he grabs a robe and does just that.

+

It’s not that Tony has poor heat habits. They’re no worse than his eating or sleeping habits, which is to say: perhaps less than ideal for a normal person, but appropriate and optimized for what he, specifically, wishes to accomplish in the world.

Mom, of course, did her best to teach him with books and diagrams, while original Jarvis tried to share anecdotes that were supposed to be more helpful instead of awkward. Yet by the time Tony finished MIT he’d had his routine (or lack of) down to art, which was only marginally thwarted whenever Pepper and/or Rhodey tried to steer him towards being _reasonable_ and _responsible_.

Fact is, Steve’s merely the latest in a line of people who’ve offered constructive criticism on how Tony handles his heat. That Tony’s ended up sleeping with Steve on the regular because of said criticism doesn’t actually mean anything; if Steve _really_ wanted Tony to have better heat hygiene, he wouldn’t have fucked Tony silly and thus put Tony’s cycle out of whack.

But that’s okay, because it was never about better heat management.

Anyway, Tony and Steve have been a thing for a couple of months now. They’re dating, seeing each other, living together; all those fun things on top of already being part of the Avengers gig. It’s still a little unsettling in its newness (the relationship, not the Avenging), but never let it be said that Tony isn’t adaptable to whatever curveball life throws his way. In this case, said curveball being one Steve Rogers who has apparently been suppressing a hell of a lot more than he’s let on, and has found relief in _Tony_ of all people.

Not that Tony’s complaining.

Well, he does verbally ‘complain’ about Steve’s knocking his heat cycle completely off, sure. But Steve knows what Tony _really_ means, which is that that’s just one among a number of things that’s changed since they’ve come together, and needs some figuring out the way that they’ve been figuring out everything else, i.e. living arrangements (Steve’s moved into Tony’s rooms), public display (Steve _really_ likes having Tony’s scent on him, and Tony’s okay with that), plus balancing personal dynamics with the work (surprisingly easy).

So, the heat issue. The first time Tony let Steve mount him, it was a friendly thing, lacking any accompanying promise. They started dating a little time after that, but all the sex involved since then has been the regular kind. There’s been no trace of heat sweetness at all, which has been alarmingly fantastic for Tony’s productivity.

Privately, Tony wondered if he’s nearing the end of his cycle in its entirety. He should still have a decade to go, but who knows? His lifestyle isn’t exactly typical. He wouldn’t mind if it did, too, and he’s reasonably certain that Steve wouldn’t care at all.

But here they are, and here Tony is – dressed in a fluffy robe, lounging in bed, and nursing a familiar growing ache low in his stomach.

“You know,” Tony calls out to Steve, who’s in the bathroom, “you could go to the dinner on my behalf.”

“And leave you by yourself?” Steve steps out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He’s only in shorts and freshly showered, his hair damp and skin glistening like a pop-up ad meant to catch you off-guard before the malware kicks in.

“I _am_ used to waiting it out,” Tony reminds him. “A couple of hours is nothing.”

“But I’ve already touched you. You’re gonna peak by…” Steve glances at the clock on the TV, “…well before dessert.”

“I could ask Vision to help me out. It’s none of my business if he has a knot, but I’m pretty sure he can make one if he doesn’t.”

Steve levels a long look at Tony. “Is that to get me jealous, or to make me second-guess if you want to do this? Because I don’t think it’s working for either.”

Tony laughs. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow and takes a deep breath – filtered air, soap and Steve – that calms. He’s relaxed, but he can’t deny that a small part of him is anxious, because brains are weird and can go even weirder during heats, and what if some unseen incompatibility reveals itself today? Tony hopes not. Or at least, he hopes that it’s something they can still work with.

Tony half-hears, half-smells Steve’s approach, and turns his head into the brush of fingers against his cheek. He looks up at Steve, and is content.

“Hungry,” Tony says. “Snacks?”

“Will do.” Steve makes to leave, but stills at the questioning sound Tony makes.

“You going out like that?” Tony says.

Steve grins. “You don’t want other people seeing me like this?”

“Maybe.”

“You were fine with it the other day. Or was that only because you’d scratched up my back?”

“I’m a show-off, what can I say,” Tony says airily.

“I am aware of that.” Steve knows that Tony’s not that serious, but he fetches a shirt from the wardrobe anyway. His choice is a comfy cotton one, short-sleeved, and positively decent in comparison to his usual.

“How are you not busting the seams of your shorts,” Tony says in amazement. “I know you didn’t whack one out in the shower.”

“Confidence in a sure thing.” Steve says it with the straight-faced delivery worthy of his most ridiculous PSAs, as if he hadn’t just effectively declared that Tony’s ass is all his. Tony probably shouldn’t find that hot. And he should _definitely_ not find it hot when Steve gives a small salute as he leaves the room.

“This is my life,” Tony says out loud. The empty room offers no judgment whatsoever. “FRIDAY? Bring the volume up. And kick up the air filters for this floor. Don’t want to bother the others.”

“ _The Captain has already put the wing on lockdown, boss_ ,” FRIDAY says.

“Of course he did. He’s probably out there marking the walls, too.” Tony stretches his legs out in front of him and wiggles his toes. The heat’s coming, but everything still in order, so there’s some time yet. “Pull up my worklist, let’s see what we can get done before I get drunk.”

“ _Sure thing, boss_.”

+

He and Steve talked here and there about what they’d do for Tony’s next heat, and one of the things they both agreed upon (as in, Steve insisted, and Tony capitulated) was that Tony wouldn’t let said heat run liberally long the way as has been his usual practice. But that doesn’t mean Tony can’t do some work while waiting.

So he does. FRIDAY projects a working screen in front of him so Tony doesn’t have to get up, allowing him to lie on the bed while he tinkers with a few designs, browses his emails, and pulls a couple of maintenance items for deeper review later.

He’s still at it when Steve returns with food, and they snack together while scanning the news.

“How’s it going outside?” Tony says. “Everyone resting?”

“Yeah, everyone’s clocked out for the day,” Steve says. “Maybe a few days, even. I think Wanda and Vision went out for dinner, though.”

“Ah, to be young or not human at all.”

“I’m thinking of calling Clint in.”

“To what, chaperone them?”

“No, just for some training exercises, especially for recon.” Steve waves off Tony’s offer of the bowl of apple slices, and stretches out on his side of the bed. “I was just thinking about earlier – Fury’s right, we rely too hard on Nat for undercover. You think Clint’d be annoyed?”

“Alternately, he’d be grateful. Sure, he’s enjoying retirement, but the occasional change of pace could also be nice.”

“Can’t imagine you enjoying retirement.”

“Glass houses.” Tony glances over, and is surprised by Steve’s slow blink at the ceiling. Apparently it’s been a long day for super soldiers, too. Tony may be keyed up, but that has nothing to do with actual exhaustion – he’s wired for an oncoming fever, which just means that he’s going to crash like a ten-car pile-up tomorrow. “You’re tired. You should have a nap.”

“Not _that_ tired.”

“Have a nap. I’m not going anywhere.” When Steve makes a face, Tony waves a hand at the room. “I am incredibly comfy and not at all interested in being anywhere else. When I need you, I’ll wake you up.”

“Okay. Please do that.” Steve settles down, his hands interlaced over his stomach, and one foot over the other. He closes his eyes and, as has been Tony’s envy even since the first time he’d witnessed this, Steve falls asleep. Just like that.

Tony shakes his head, though he’s smiling as he does it. He also waves a hand to lower the volume of the TV.

The scene’s positively domestic. Sure, they’ve been dating and sleeping together ad nauseam, but here’s Steve, passed out beside him from a long day of hard work, feeling safe and welcome while Tony keeps working. Tony can still remember with crystal clearness the era when it was awkward for both of them to spend any non-Avenging hours together at all, as if they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop and the façade of amicable friendship to prove itself an illusion.

But they’re here. Steve’s here. Tony opened his arms (because it was him who did it, even if Steve physically came to him that first time) and Steve stepped into them, and they’d found unexpected fit.

Tony feels pretty comfy with this, too. Comfier than he thought it would be, though he’d chalked it up to his initial surprise over the whole thing: Steve offering his knot, firstly, and then Steve wanting more and being unable to ask for it. Tony’s contrarian nature reared its head at that; if Steve wouldn’t step up, then Tony _would_.

Maybe Tony should feel more anxious about this heat thing. There’s no actual rule that couples have to share the heats, and he’s pretty sure that Steve wouldn’t mind if Tony didn’t want to. But Tony _does_ want to, partially because sex with Steve is great, and that one time they had heat sex was also great, and that Tony feels that denying himself Steve’s dick when he has enthusiastic access to it would be a step too far in masochism.

But on the other hand, heat drunkenness can be the opposite of fun. Not always, but Tony has a feeling about Steve, specifically, because of how they’ve been learning to lean on and trust each other. With that kind of growing openness, Tony thinks it likely that he’ll do something embarrassing, like beg for Steve’s knot as if it’s Tony’s first time riding the heatwave, or admit that he sometimes daydreams about letting Steve knot him while he’s working in the lab or piloting the Quinjet. Not necessarily for sexy purposes, but just… to see how long Tony can concentrate. But Tony doesn’t think they’re there yet, to share that kind of thing.

But on the other _other_ hand, if Tony’s going to utterly embarrass himself, he’d rather it be with Steve than anyone else. Steve would be very polite and thoughtful about it, too.

Tony feels warm. There’s sweat on his neck and in his clavicle. He sits up and shakes his head, and for good measure checks the thermostat. Sure enough, the room temperature hasn’t changed.

There’s a tingling at his waist, like someone’s pinched the muscle there. He feels itchy and unsettled.

Tony looks over at Steve.

The man’s still asleep. His limbs are relaxed, his face is clear, and his massive chest rises and falls with his steady breaths. It is picturesque, though admittedly everything about Steve is picturesque, even the really dumb faces Tony’s able to provoke out of him. But where the sight usually brings contentment, it now makes Tony feel agitated and restless. He wants to wake Steve up, but he also doesn’t want to.

Steve smells really, really good – all warmth and comfort and sweetness – which Tony usually only gets when he’s pressed up against him, instead of like now when there’s a handful of feet between them. Which means Tony’s sense of smell has kicked up a notch.

Steve’s eyes open. His nostrils flare and his eyes come into focus, darting sharply over to Tony.

“Okay,” Steve says quietly. He sits up and faces Tony, the motion alarmingly smooth. “Okay. Hi.”

“Hi,” Tony says. “Good nap?”

“Yeah, can’t complain.” Steve settles his hands on Tony’s shoulders, his thumbs rubbing gently through the fleece of the robe. Tony shivers, and Steve can most definitely feel it. “How’re you feeling?”

Tony thinks. “Getting horny.”

“Need some help?”

“No, you’re only here to watch.”

Steve laughs and leans in. Tony lets his eyes drift shut, and holds his breath at the first touch of Steve lips. The kiss is soft, but soft isn’t the same as tentative. Steve is a man on a mission, the press and glide of his mouth lulling and luring Tony in, and sure enough, Tony’s body responds with exaggerated eagerness.

Tony admits to being curious about this part; sure, Steve’s had Tony’s heat before, but they didn’t even bother to kiss that time. The learning curve of the past few months has brought them here, where they have a greater familiarity of each other – physically and otherwise, though in this case it’s the physical familiarity part that should make this heat sharing different.

And so it does. Steve kisses Tony the way he knows Tony likes (and ain’t that a kick that he knows that), keeping it light and teasing in between harsh and hot, difficult to predict, and interspersed with daring sweeps of his tongue into Tony’s mouth. Then there are Steve’s clever hands, feather light and tender along Tony’s chin, over his neck, and down his arms. It’s all sensual and unhurried, as if there’s nothing at all to chase and that Steve would be perfectly content just doing this and nothing more. Which he _would_ , because he’s Steve.

“Gear up,” Tony says, breathless already. He tugs at Steve’s shirt. “Let me see.”

“Okay.” Steve reaches to the back of own collar, pulling his shirt off one-handed. He rises up on his knees to remove his shorts, too, and Tony – well. Tony’s seen all of this and more but it still knocks the breath out of him. Steve is beautiful, prime alpha, the kind of which would be dismissed as impossible except it’s real. Put Steve’s subtly mischievous face on top, and Tony is a goner.

Steve’s eyes are dark, his lips pink and the muscles in his abs twitch as he settles back into a sitting position. On display, as it were. For Tony. Steve’s dick even twitches and thickens when Tony looks at it.

Tony grins and put his hands on Steve’s knees, then glides up along his strong, lightly-furred thighs to the meet at his hips. Tony can feel the fever creeping in at each inhale of Steve’s arousal – a reasonable reaction to the proximity of a ready partner. But even as he feels himself get wet, there’s no full-on urgency, which is curious. Tony usually has to battle that need, put a muzzle on it and sit it down until he’s read to deal with it. Maybe it’s because Steve’s so calm, which is helping Tony stay calm, too.

“You better be enjoying this, too,” Tony says.

Steve’s eyebrows go up. “I’m enjoying your anticipation, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tony moves his hands onto Steve’s chest, petting the space under Steve’s pecs. “ _My_ anticipation?”

“I can smell it.” Steve gasps at Tony’s dragging his fingertips over his stomach. “Your scent changes the deeper you’re in heat. It’s very, uh…” He licks his lips, as though wanting to draw more of said scent into his mouth. “It’s very nice.”

“It’s _supposed_ to be appealing, that’s the point. You’re very nice, too, I mean…” Tony takes a deep whiff of his own, just to figure out how to describe Steve’s scent, but that turns out to be a mistake. Tony chokes, head snapping back in shock – it’s as if Steve is already in him, thick and hot and opening Tony from the inside out by pheromones alone. “Oh god.”

“It’s not just your heat.” Steve’s voice seems to come from far away. His hands come onto Tony’s waist, grounding him, and Tony gives in. Steve’s here, Steve will take care of him, and since Steve’s helping Tony lie down on his back, this is obviously the best possible course of action. Steve says, “It’s you, specifically. It’s another side of your scent.”

This is it, this is the fever drunkenness. Tony is less and more of himself at the same time – his senses are hyperaware of everything, while his thoughts go foggy and feverish. This is sometimes terrifying and better put under control, but not today, and not with Steve.

Tony looks up, to where Steve’s naked and hovering over him. A part of Tony’s brain recognizes that he should find at least some part of this threatening, be it Steve’s size, or the focus in his eyes, or that large alpha cock jutting towards Tony’s belly button. But there’s no alarm here; only arousal and expectation and appreciation.

There’s so much of Steve to look at. Tony barely notices Steve arranging him, pushing a pillow under his hips to raise them, and then making himself comfortable sitting between Tony’s parted legs. Steve looks really, really good there.

Steve says something. There’s an upswing in his voice towards the end, so it must be a question. Tony responds with an encouraging sound of his own.

Steve shakes his head, but he seems amused. He moves, then, tugging the sash of Tony’s robe free and peeling the lapels apart as if opening a present. Which Tony is, in a way? All Tony knows is that he feels sexy as hell as Steve pushes the fleece aside, his hands hovering for a second in the air – almost as though unsure where to start – before landing on the skin of Tony’s chest. Steve’s palms are flat and greedy, and they grab at Tony’s stomach, sides, arms, neck.

Tony can’t really talk as it is, but it worsens when Steve keeps on touching him. Fingers dance along Tony’s hips, around his dick, over the expanse of his torso. Every touch brings fire with it, as if Tony’s skin is drawn too tight, the nerves alight and thrumming. His whole body is an itch, and it needs the relief that only Steve can give him.

Even if Tony wasn’t able to smell it off of Steve (which he does) it’d still be obvious that Steve loves doing this. He has that cool sweet mint of contentment, over the deeper charge of his arousal, and he’s smiling when he lowers his head to rest on Tony’s sternum and breathe Tony in deeply. Then it’s off to the races, where the mouth that Tony once upon a time thought only good for barking orders now sets itself at Tony’s way-too-tender left nipple and laves it to aching hardness.

Tony whines. He’s so, _so_ ready. Here’s the pull, the want, the twisting desperation that starts deep inside and spreads through every limb. His hands find Steve’s head, digging through hair to the scalp and holding him close. Not that Steve needs encouragement, really. His lips and tongue keep moving over the nub, coaxing it stiff and sore before moving on to its twin and doing the same.

“Ngf,” Tony says, which is a poor expression of how empty he feels. There’s a flash of irritation at this position – if he were on his stomach Steve could mount him far more easily. As it is, Tony hooks a heel against Steve’s lower back and tilts his hips up, trying to invite Steve in.

Steve’s lips leave Tony’s chest, but it’s only so that he can rise up to kiss Tony again, and again, and jaw-achingly deep. Tony lets Steve push his mouth open because that feels right – every part of Tony is open and ready and waiting for him.

“Tony,” Steve says. He moves to nuzzle the side of Tony’s face, his breath coming in warm puffs against Tony’s overheated skin. Down below, Steve’s hand finds the inside of Tony’s right knee, pushing it upward and spreading him wider. “Do you want me to come in?”

Geez _._ Tony taps his ankle in a _yes_ against Steve’s back. But while Steve draws back in readiness, there’s a severe lack of thrusting action that follows.

“I can do that, but you need to slick me up first,” Steve says. “Tony? You need to slick me up.”

 _What?_ Tony scowls and looks down. There’s Steve cock, which is a very nice cock even if Tony weren’t heinously biased about all things Steve these days. Steve takes said cock in hand, aiming it to the juncture between Tony’s legs. Tony gasps at the first sweet pressure at his opening, a nudge as gentle as Steve’s kisses, but then the pressure pushes… past.

Steve’s not aiming to go in. He guides the shaft upward, gliding over Tony’s opening, catching slick as it goes. Tony knows Steve’s dick – its heft and weight and texture – but he’s never felt it like this, stroking over his hole nice and easy and infuriating.

“You need to get me wet,” Steve says. “Can you do that?”

Tony snaps his teeth. His neck’s starting to ache but he keeps looking down, watching the way that Steve’s cockhead rises and recedes between Tony’s legs. It’s glistening now, too, coated with Tony’s arousal like some fucking weird erotic paintbrush. The emptiness in Tony feels acute now, an insistent burn of neglect that feels all the sharper for how Steve’s dick is _right there_.

Tony whines and rolls his hips upward. But though Steve’s moving with him, it’s in mockery of actual fucking. There’s just Steve’s rubbing against him, cockhead to balls and back again, while Tony’s inner muscles clench on nothing.

God, Tony feels so open. He’s leaking like a goddamned teenager, too, and straining for relief that Steve seems in no hurry to give. The worst part, though, is that it still feels good. His opening seems plenty happy with the continuous rubbing, where each quickening glide of Steve’s shaft seems to be a promise for entry, but _isn’t,_ but still _could be_.

“Just a little more,” Steve says, his voice low. “Just a bit more.”

Tony realizes, to his surprise, that he’s close to coming. It seems that his body’s so attuned to Steve that it doesn’t matter that Steve’s not actually in him yet. Steve’s here, aroused and panting with him, and that _is_ his dick going to town on Tony’s hole so… maybe? Wait, no, definitely. Tony starts to shake, while the sensations narrow, focus, and pool tight.

“Steve,” Tony hisses.

“Yeah.” Steve rocks his hips faster, and it almost really is like they’re fucking. “Almost.”

Tony closes his eyes, opens his mouth in a cry, and comes. Pleasure bursts and rolls through him, sharpened by the heat. Though he knows, even as he’s coming, that he’s going to need one more.

Still gasping for breath, Tony’s hands claw their way up Steve’s shoulders and dig in harshly.

“Right, right, here you go.” Steve shifts, his hands and hips moving, and – _finally_.

There’s barely any resistance when Steve enters him, despite Steve’s size always making things interesting. But today, as Tony comes down from his orgasm, there’s just the soothing, snug pressure of an intrusion finding its way home via one long push, until Steve’s hips are flush against Tony’s body. Tony moves a little to check the length inside him and, relieved at its fullness, goes boneless.

On the one hand, that was fun. On the other hand, Tony’s not game for more fucking at the moment. This turn of events is Steve’s fault, so the guy can wait. Which he… seems to be doing.

Tony opens his eyes. There’s Steve sitting pretty between Tony’s legs, unhurried and unmoving. It’s nice, but now that Tony can think about it a little, also kind of annoying. After all, Tony’s already come twice, and what has Steve done? Well, aside from tilt his head back deliciously and sigh at the feeling of being inside Tony.

Steve exhales slowly, and starts when he sees Tony watching him. “You okay?”

Tony nods. His arms still feel like jelly, but he manages to grab Steve’s wrist and tug. _Move._

“Not too much?” Steve asks.

Tony makes a face. That beatific sparkle in Steve’s eye harkens back to the threat he made when they first got together, that Tony would have to watch out the next time his heat came around. Well, his heat is here, and Steve does keep his promises.

It takes some effort and two false starts, but Tony manages to croak out, “Why do you keep forgetting about the knot? Are you like, making a point that you don’t think with yours? Because it actually serves a purpose, you know.”

Steve grins. “I do know.”

“You’d think.” Tony sighs when Steve starts to move in small, hitching thrusts. It’s strange at first, because Tony’s already had his orgasm yet there’s been no inside action whatsoever, so his opening feels overstimulated and neglected at the same time.

But then Steve keeps going, and it becomes nice. Relaxing. Hypnotic, like waves lapping at his skin except in this case it’s Steve fucking him. The view’s really good, too, with all those super soldier muscles rippling – chest, stomach, thighs, arms – as Steve works at it. Tony’s own private show, admission price: one heat.

Steve huffs a laugh, and it takes Tony a second to realize the sound is a response to whatever’s happening on Tony’s face. Tony’s smiling, and why wouldn’t he? He really likes Steve, and spending time with Steve, and making Steve feel good as much as possible. On that last one, it’s very cool when Tony succeeds, whether or not genitals-locking is involved.

Tony lifts a hand to stroke the side of Steve’s face, and Steve noses at it happily.

Okay, so now Tony has to help Steve come. Steve loves being touched, so Tony gets on that, petting Steve’s face, stroking his thumbs across Steve’s neck, and then kneading his shoulders. Tony’s thighs are starting to ache but that’s ignorable for now, so he heaves his calves up to twine tight around Steve’s back, locking him in.

Steve startles a little, his eyes widening and his scent thickening. But then he’s going with it, that familiar focused scowl of his appearing as his thrusts turn sharp and strong. Tony grunts with it, as he’s damn near winded at each harsh knock of Steve’s hips against him, but that’s also very, very good.

Tony shudders, a full-body motion that confirms the second wind of his heat. A new flush of slick makes itself known, followed close by the filthy squelch of Steve plunging into him. It’s getting difficult to think, and Tony’s rhythm is going off. He squeezes around Steve’s dick, but it’s more instinctual than strategic, and holy _shit_ his pussy is hungry for it.

“Tony,” Steve says, his voice muted but close. “Are you fighting it?”

Tony shakes his head.

“You don’t have to.” Steve circles his hips, drawing a high-pitched sound from the back of Tony’s throat. “It’s okay,” Steve insists.

It feels good, but it’s also wrong. Tony needs this, but he also needs Steve to come. Steve’s enjoyment is important; _Steve_ is important. Steve’ll get there eventually, sure, but what kind of omega would Tony be if he doesn’t help him along? Just because Steve’s gotten really good at fucking him that doesn’t excuse anything.

“Tony,” Steve says.

Tony tightens his legs around Steve, gaining enough leverage to fuck _up_ onto Steve’s groin. Steve’s dick pulses and pleasure blooms hot under Tony’s skin, but he won’t let himself be distracted. That knot will be his, fucking dammit.

“Tony, this isn’t a competition,” Steve says as he strokes a thumb on Tony’s cheek. It’s meant to be soothing, but Tony turns his head and bites Steve’s palm. Not painfully – he’s not _that_ far gone – but enough to show his determination.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve says quickly. He moves his hands to Tony’s sides, slipping under the small of Tony’s back to hold him steady for what comes next.

And what comes next is quick and hard and fierce, Steve going full-on alpha in taking Tony’s body again and again and again. His dick feels massive, commanding Tony’s opening for its purpose, and what a purpose it is. The brakes are off, it feels _really fucking good_ , and Tony has to use his two decades of heat experience to hold his orgasm at bay. Because he will. He _is_.

Tony grits his teeth and glares up at Steve. There must be something in face, some urgency or stubborn desperation that Steve understands, because Steve inhales sharply, his eyes almost completely dark when he slams them shut.

Steve comes with a choked-off growl. His hips stutter and still, as deep as he can go, and the knot starts to swell. Tony grinds up, frantic and searching until pressure expands enough to tie just under his rim. The fullness locks in place, perfect in its hugeness, and Tony comes.

Tony lets go, takes it, and shouts his throat hoarse. His body’s suffused with pleasure, wave upon wave, in fulfilment of Steve’s promise of filling him up and then _filling him up._ The itch is well and truly scratched.

Tony coasts on it until he’s recovered enough to wheeze a laugh, because three times? Steve definitely deserves a gold star for that.

“Wow,” Tony sighs dreamily. Then he looks up, and blinks in surprise.

Steve seems frozen, limbs stiff and biceps straining, while sweat trickles down his neck. Tony tentatively lifts one hand and brushes his knuckles under Steve’s chin, which makes Steve groan and snap his hips again, though there’s nowhere left to go.

“Uh.” Tony puts a hand on Steve’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat there. “Are you _still_ coming?”

Steve’s lips part in what appears to be a sneer, though it reads more as an unintentional tic than on purpose. There’s agony in his eyes as he stares at Tony, as though this is as much a surprise to him as it is to Tony. Maybe this is a super serum thing.

Tony pets Steve through it. He marks Steve’s favorite spots on his elbows and shoulders, where he rubs his scent in with firm strokes. He hums a wordless comforting tune, and pointedly stays calm even as he feels Steve’s come starts to leak out past the knot. Tony’s impressed, and perhaps a little smug. Or a lot smug. Who can blame him, really?

At long last Steve scrunches his eyes shut and clenches his jaw through a final, distressed gasp. It’s over when he slumps forward, all at once done and weakened. He _definitely_ deserves a gold star.

Tony’s thighs still hurt, but the pain feels distant. He’d worried for nothing, obviously, because now he’s stuffed with knot and surfing the endorphins, and everything’s peachy. Through the pleasant fog in his brain, Tony rubs his hands soothingly over Steve’s shoulders, which are shaking as much as the rest of him.

“Gimme a sec,” Steve slurs.

“It’s okay,” Tony says. “No rush.”

But Steve seems to take that as a challenge, no matter that Tony whines that it’s fine, it’s okay, he can wait. Steve pushes past the tremble in his limbs to lift Tony’s legs up, both onto Steve’s shoulder, and then over entirely so Tony can turn onto his side. It takes some arranging around where they’re locked together, but they do settle down on their sides, Tony’s robe removed and Steve tucked up against Tony’s back with one arm around Tony to hold him close. Tony sighs his relief at the position change and makes himself comfortable for the wait.

At least, he planned to be comfortable through the wait, but then Steve starts pawing at him again. One hand lands on Tony’s pec, almost absent-mindedly flicking the nipple, like a comfort thing. Steve does that sometimes, which is usually a nice distraction, though with Tony wrung out like this it’s a bit much.

“Uh,” Tony says.

Steve hums against the back of Tony’s neck, where he’s sucking the skin weakly. His hand drifts down, over Tony’s stomach, and cups his softened cock. Which twitches.

Tony clears his throat. “Steve.”

“Okay,” Steve says, sounding apologetic and sleepy. His hands stills but stays where it is, like a warm sleeve over Tony’s groin. Steve’s breathing evens out, but Tony knows from experience that the guy isn’t dozing off. Steve just gets like this whenever they tie down, as if a large chunk of his brain has decided to switch off for a few minutes until his knot’s done its job.

It's nice how Tony knows all this about Steve. Not just the sex details, but other things, like how Steve snores when he’s tired, and is picky about his food but tries not to show it, and sometimes steals (sorry, _borrows_ ) Tony’s clothes when he goes on missions so he can keep his scent with him. A year ago Tony would’ve just been happy to able to count Steve as a proper friend he can spend non-work-related downtime with, but then this happened and all sorts of surprises came popping out.

Tony’s surprised himself, too. When’s the last time he dealt with a heat this way? He can’t even remember, but it feels natural, wonderful, and a brilliant idea that was always waiting to be made real.

Also, Steve’s knot still feels really good.

“Hey,” Tony says. He puts his hand over Steve’s and pushes it down. It takes Steve a second to realize what Tony’s asking, and when he does, he carefully starts stroking. A tease at first, just fingertips along Tony’s shaft, before Steve dips down to collect the mess of slick and come between Tony’s legs, and coming back up to use it as lube in jacking Tony off.

It's clumsy, lazy, and just on the edge of uncomfortable. Tony’s always pushed the edge anyway, though _maybe_ number four might be a bit much because when he does finally come, he also passes out.

+

Tony wakes up to discomfort. He grumbles unhappily, until he registers Steve kissing his shoulder, gentle and calming.

“I’m just pulling out,” Steve whispers.

Tony makes a sound that makes clear what he thinks about that. Steve pauses politely, still halfway buried inside. Tony sighs; this is his least favorite part of the whole thing, but there’s nothing to be done for it. He nods, and Steve slowly slips free, leaving Tony empty and aware of his soreness.

“Ugh,” Tony says. His eyes are still closed, and they stay closed as Steve kisses his waist and uses the robe to wipe the mess between his legs.

“You want a shower?” Steve says. “Or a bath?”

Tony grunts his opinion that he will not be leaving the bed unless someone sets it on fire, and even then maybe not. He’s also aware that he may regret this decision later when things get cold and gross, but that’s a problem for later-Tony.

“Okay.” Steve returns to his spot at Tony’s back, cuddling close and perfect. “We’ll do that later.”

Tony huffs his assent, and promptly falls back to sleep.

+

The next time Tony wakes, it’s to a different sense of discomfort.

He opens his eyes and attempts a review of the situation. Aches and twinges, check. Stickiness between his legs, check. Post-coital thrum, very much check. The heat’s fading fast, and leaving behind the hollow hangover that is Tony’s other least-favorite part. Usually he goes for a greasy food binge, or play music really loudly, or both – this doesn’t work for everyone, but for him, at least, the replacement of one sensory overload with another eases the transition back to normal.

There’s something wrong, though. Something slightly off, like the window blinders aren’t properly closed and are letting a sliver of sunlight glare through. Tony tries to ignore it, because that was a really fantastic fuck that ought to be appreciated as such.

But the wrongness tickles and makes him uneasy. Tony rolls over to ask Steve if he can sense it, too, but the bed’s empty.

Steve’s not here. He’s not in bed, nor the room, nor in the unlit bathroom. Tony hadn’t noticed because the whole room is saturated with his scent – the bed especially – but the man himself is absent. Which is strange.

No, it’s not strange. Steve’s obviously somewhere nearby. Maybe he got an important call, or is picking something up from the kitchen, or any other of the dozens of perfectly reasonably reasons that he’d leave Tony by himself in the immediate aftermath of his heat. It’s not as if Steve would _want_ to leave Tony by himself, as if it’s a wham-bam one-and-done, Steve’s ticked Tony’s heat off his To Do List.

Tony knows all of this, and repeats it to himself. It’s important to repeat it to himself because a part of his brain is starting to panic.

Obviously, Steve hasn’t abandoned him. Steve wouldn’t just up and leave, even if he _was_ done with Tony, which he isn’t. Obviously. They’re together now, and Steve cares for him. Steve’s proven that over and over, so Tony doesn’t need Steve to be with him all the time, because that’d be absurd. If anything, Tony’s the one being ridiculous, because he’s coming out of his heat and the hormones are making his thoughts squishy and slippery. This is, frankly, pathetic, because Tony’s had decades to get the heat hangover process worked out, and he hasn’t had Steve for any of that before.

Tony tries to will his brain to stop. It doesn’t.

Instead, he thinks about how it would be pretty damn embarrassing if Steve came back now and found Tony like this – restless and uneasy and thinking unkind things about Steve, which Steve in no way deserves. Because Steve’s a good guy, the best guy, probably the best that Tony’s ever known. The worst thing Tony could do at this point is get clingy and accusatory, as if Steve hasn’t already done more than Tony deserves.

Maybe the problem is that Tony hasn’t done enough? Sharing heat’s supposed to be fun, but also an exercise in trust, and Tony was rude and grumpy for some of it, wasn’t he? Demanding, even. Steve was only trying to help, and Tony had to go be a lot. Sure, Tony’s always _been_ a lot, and Steve’s been fine with him until now, but maybe it got too much? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Tony realizes, to his horror, that he’s crying. It takes a second to register, because it feels like he’s barely blinking, and it’s only in turning his head against the pillow that he notices the hot streaks trailing over his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose.

Peachy. Wonderful. They’re supposed to have a good time, and Tony has to go and be hormonal and weird, as if it’s his first try riding the heat wave. He thought something like this would happen, and now it has. Steve’s going to get upset, and Tony will overcompensate, like he always does, and why? Because Tony’s a stupid clingy omega who can’t stand being alone for five minutes. Like, what the hell? Why does this matter?

It matters because Steve makes him feel safe – cherished and safe and looked after – right down to the core of him. So this right here is a preview of what it’s going to be like when Steve leaves him. Not that Steve’s going to leave him, of course, that’s just more intrusive thoughts.

But what if, though? It’s going to be awful. Tony’s only _thinking_ about it and he’s already cold and shaking and dripping snot onto the pillow like, hello, that’s very attractive.

Someone’s running. The footsteps speed up and grow louder, though it takes Tony a second to parse said footsteps as approaching as opposed to vaguely happening somewhere far away. The door opens with a slam, and Tony panics.

“It’s nothing!” Tony shouts. He immediately covers his face, though Steve practically jumps into bed and pulls Tony into his arms. “It’s just hormones, it’s nothing, I’m sorry, it’s not a big deal!”

Steve doesn’t say anything. He just tucks Tony tight against him, one large hand at the back of Tony’s head and the other wrapped around his back. A hug, but horizontal and rocking gently, as if Tony’s a fucking baby, which he might as well be if he’s going to be so ridiculous.

Tony makes a token sound of protest, but Steve just squeezes harder. Tony’s face is practically mashed against Steve’s chest, so although the guy’s wearing a shirt now, every inhale has Steve’s scent flooding him and confirming his presence. Steve’s here. Steve’s with him, and he’s calm and determined and doesn’t seem to care that Tony’s making a mess of his shirt.

They stay like that for a while. Steve’s propped his chin against Tony’s crown, so his breath rustles the hair there on each breath in and out. Tony feels himself relaxing, his tears slowing as he hiccups, while the noise in his head trails away into a low murmur.

See? He was just being stupid. Steve’s not going anywhere.

“I needed to get some electrolytes,” Steve says softly. “I thought you were asleep, which, uh… Hmm. I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

That’s not right. Tony wriggles his way out of Steve’s arms and sits up. He’s gross, his eyes are puffy, and he’s covered with sweat and come, and now tears and snot. Meanwhile Steve looks like _that_ , where the worst anyone can say about him is the sad softness of his eyes.

Tony clears his throat and looks around. But Steve’s ahead of him again, and grabs the Kleenex from the side table to offer it. Tony takes it blows his nose, taking care not to look at Steve as he does it.

See, it’s fine when _Steve_ is needy. Steve’s been through a lot and lost so much, and bottled all those feelings up without any outlet more useful that superheroing and putting himself in danger. It’s only fair that Steve should yearn for peace and belonging, and express that yearning any way he wants. Steve should have all the nice things, whatever they are. Plus it’s fucking romantic when alphas are openly needy and affectionate.

For Tony, though, it’s all tied up in baggage and stereotypes, along with the uphill journey he’s been on these past few years to overcome his baser instincts. Haha, omegas are so emotional, right? No. Do more. Look outward, upward, forward. Be better.

“Not your fault,” Tony says. “It’s just me and the… you know.” He gestures at his head.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not real,” Steve says. “Or that it doesn’t matter.”

The simplicity of Steve’s declaration is almost a physical band, squeezing tight around Tony’s lungs. He turns away, mortified at his own reaction. Steve’s hand has been on his arm this whole while, but it carefully withdraws. Tony’s nose is stuffed at this point, but he catches the faint whiff of Steve’s worry and guilt, perhaps tied in a wish to not upset Tony more than he already is.

“It’s, uh.” Tony swallows, shaking his head rapidly. “I swear it’s not you. Well. I guess it’s _kind_ of about you? But like, I mean.” He looks at Steve, who is holding himself very, very still. As if ready to do whatever Tony needs. The knowledge of that tightens Tony’s stomach painfully. “I guess I just realized that I, uh.” Tony shrugs. “That I don’t have the slightest clue how to keep you. And it freaked me out.”

Steve tilts his head a little, as though waiting for more. But that’s it, and it surprises him. Steve says, slowly and clearly, “If it helps, I’m not sure how to keep you, either.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not? This is new for both of us,” Steve says. “We agreed that we’re figuring this out as it goes along.”

“But I’m _easy_.”

“No, you’re really not.” Steve’s smile is small, almost bashful. “But it’s you, and I want all of you. Even this.”

“Even when I’m being a basketcase, is what you mean.”

“Even this,” Steve says firmly.

Tony rubs his arms, before he realizes that he’s only doing it because he wants _Steve_ to be rubbing his arms, and stops. “Omegas don’t find mates this late in life, okay? Sure, it happens sometimes, but it’s more the stuff of books and wishful thinking.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come out of the ice sooner,” Steve says.

Tony stares at him. Steve’s cheeks take on a high flush, but his expression stays resolute, his gaze unwavering.

Tony’s almost certain that he didn’t hear what he just said, but then Steve adds: “I’ve been thinking of you that way more and more, lately. I know, it’s forward, but I’m telling you now. You don’t have to say anything.”

But Tony does. “Me? Really?”

“Surely you’re not surprised.”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” Tony agrees slowly. He deflates a little, and has to stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds so his eye ducts don’t betray him again. “I shouldn’t be.”

A different kind of longing swells in his chest. This is also the hormones, but it’s also Tony, and he thinks he can tell the difference. He reaches out a hand with the palm up, and Steve takes it without hesitation. The touch is firm and grounding, and just what Tony’s cotton-thick brain needs to focus on.

It’s funny – Tony approached Steve first (the heat lure doesn’t count) and when he made the decision to do that, he knew this could turn into something substantial. But knowing it isn’t the same as believing it.

“Do you want a drink?” Steve says.

“God, yes, please,” Tony groans. “My mouth feels like the inside of a lint filter.”

Steve needs to let go of Tony’s hand in order to fetch the drinks and a candy bar, but he’s back quickly. They sit together, thighs touching and Steve’s hand circling Tony’s lower back gently as he gets some liquid and sugar back into his system.

When Tony sniffs, Steve grabs more Kleenex and dabs at Tony’s face. Tony resists the urge to turn away. Steve can do this, and Tony can let him do this, and neither of them are weaker for it.

“I’m going to be very embarrassed tomorrow morning,” Tony mutters.

“You don’t have to be.” Steve smiles suddenly. “I mean. I can’t say that I didn’t get a kick when you said that you want to keep me.”

Tony looks at Steve in alarm. “That’s… you already know that, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Steve says reassuringly. “It’s still very nice to hear it.”

“Hah,” Tony says with a laugh. He also makes a mental note to do it more often, and in as many different ways as possible. “Well, it’s very true.”

Steve nods. “Good. Do you want a shower now?”

“Actually, yeah.” Tony squints over at the bathroom door, which is an interminable distance away. Then he looks back at Steve and, suppressing the side of him that’s screaming quietly, opens his arms in expectation.

Steve’s face goes funny for a moment, and his scent flushes hot and excited. He clears his throat, self-conscious and all the more charming for it, and carefully takes Tony into his arms. One arm supports Tony’s back, while the other loops under Tony’s knees in readiness to pick him up.

The good thing about this position is that it lets Tony wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders and bury his face in Steve’s neck. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, while his facial hair scratching faintly at the collar of his shirt.

“Thanks,” Tony says, muffled. He’s not sure what he’s thanking Steve for – the carry itself, or maybe Steve’s patience and kindness, or the very good settling of Tony’s heat, or just the general reality that Steve is who he is. The word is far from enough, but Tony’s too tired to come up with something better. Maybe tomorrow, when he can think more clearly and get on proper business of showing his gratitude.

Luckily, Steve doesn’t seem to need clarification. He just says, with sincerity permeating each syllable: “You’re welcome.” Then in a lighter tone: “Alley-oop,” which marks his rising up to his feet, with Tony held in his carry.

Tony doesn’t need to cling tight, because Steve is very careful, but he does so anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/189591390656/fic-1-for-marvel-trumps-hate-2019-krinosays)
> 
> Plus thanks to flyingcatstiel for looking this over. Remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to let me know in the comments or via tumblr.


End file.
